


a mistake worth making

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, Michelle is not a good bro, Peter is a crappy roommate, Secret Relationship, Shenanigans, but she gets there okay, gratuitous use of page breaks, once again I have lost control of the muse, or your money back, though Peter has no idea they were enemies to begin with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: A gas leak, perhaps. Carbon monoxide poisoning, or maybe a neurotoxin from some kind of biological attack. Mind control surely isn’t that far a stretch, considering the weird things that keep cropping up on the news.What other reason could there be for sleeping with her best friend’s crappy roommate?-----Or: The only thing MJ learns from this mistake is that it might not be one at all.If only she can explain that to Ned.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 32
Kudos: 108





	a mistake worth making

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlystill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMMA! What a beautiful day to celebrate a beautiful human <3
> 
> In a move that is completely on brand for me, I started off wanting to write a little fic about Peter and MJ secretly dating and then being set up on a date together, but uh... It grew into this? It's a bit of a mess but no worse than the mess MJ makes of her life. (Oops.)
> 
> i'm very excited about this fic because not only is it my 30th Spideychelle fic, but it also puts me over 200k of published words in 2020! Not bad for six months work, amiright?
> 
> Special thanks to Jess for championing me through this. Couldn't have done it without you my love! Even if I never did get around to editing...

Since the first moment Michelle laid eyes on Peter Parker, she hated him.

Ned was always very polite in his summaries of his newest roommate, talking about Peter’s video game skills or his short showers or how he paid his rent on time. At no point in their twice weekly catch-ups or Friday night bar trips had Ned mentioned anything negative, which should have been suspicious no matter how optimistic her longtime best friend is. It had only taken one trip to the apartment to realise her mistake; Peter Parker is a terrible roommate.

For one thing, he’s a slob. He’s always leaving mugs of unfinished coffee on whatever surfaces are available - any surface except a coaster, that is. He leaves his dirty dishes on the counter and his skincare products littered around the bathroom. Once she’d managed to catch a glimpse inside his bedroom only to be horrified by the sheer amount of dirty laundry covering the carpet. She can only imagine that the mess he leaves in his wake is down to his poor time management, since he’s always rushing about. The only time she’s seen him still is the first time she met him, when she’d walked into the apartment to see an unfamiliar boy sprawled across the couch fast asleep, head lolling off the seat next to the rip she’d stitched together a month before.

He’s also rude. He’s lived there for two months and is yet to make any real effort to bond with his two roommates. Flash is a bit of an ass, yes, but he’s harmless. And Ned? She may be biased, but there’s no doubt in her mind that Ned Leeds is in fact the sweetest person to walk the Earth.  _ Everyone  _ loves Ned. How has Peter managed to resist his effortless charm? And what makes him think he’s too good to get to know the people he lives with? Sure, his signature was barely dry on the rental agreement before the first day of junior year classes, but a last minute apartment find doesn’t mean you can’t at least show a degree of kindness to the people that share your space.

So she hates him. For herself and for Ned, because he’s too kind to ever do it himself. 

What that doesn’t explain is why she’s woken up naked in his bed.

* * *

It must be the alcohol, she thinks as she stares at his ceiling. There’s no way she’d have made this stupid a decision without her brain being significantly hindered.

Only she’d nursed a single beer the whole night, and if she were able to sneak out of this room to check, half the contents would still remain where she’d left it on the kitchen counter.

The kitchen counter. Oh, shit… The kitchen counter, where he’d lifted her up and dropped to his knees and -

A gas leak, perhaps. Carbon monoxide poisoning, or maybe a neurotoxin from some kind of biological attack. Mind control surely isn’t that far a stretch, considering the weird things that keep cropping up on the news.

What other reason could there be for sleeping with her best friend’s crappy roommate?

Peter shifts beside her, arm curling a little more deliberately around her waist. She holds her breath, waiting for the moment he wakes up and goes through the complex array of emotions she’s still battling her way through.

He just sighs, breath ruffling her tangled hair as he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

She’s jealous of the ignorance he still lingers in. Can she go back to a time where she can’t recall the hot press of his palms as he spread her legs?

Screw Ned for bailing on their movie night plans at the last minute. It’s his fault that she ended up making small talk to Peter, and it’s his fault that talking led to snarky banter, and it’s his fault that  _ that  _ led to Peter leaning in and Michelle failing to push him away.

She bears no responsibility for her actions. That much is clear. 

What she should really be concentrating on is how to escape. Peter’s arm is like a jail cell, locked in tight and impossibly heavy. Memories of the hidden strength he kept forgetting to hide float across the ceiling with the first hints of a late winter day, colouring her shame and regret in the red streaks of a rising sun. How can she set herself free from this prison - and worse, the struggle that comes next? How does she escape from the apartment without Flash spotting her? He’s incapable of keeping a secret as much as he’s incapable of not taking joy in lourding such a mistake over her head for years to come.

No. That’s not important right now. She has to get out of this room first.

Then she can panic about the mess she’s created.

* * *

The solution, as it happens, is actually very simple.

Growing tired of her spiralling mind, Michelle aims a sharp elbow to his ribs and slips over to the crumpled pile of clothes as Peter rolls to his other side with a groan.

She’s already dressed by the time he’s awake enough to realise what woke him up, a hand wrapped around the door handle as she gives him her best death glare and hisses, “This never happened!”

Before she storms right out of the room.

Fortunately, Flash seems to still be sleeping off his hangover - a godsend really, because her coat and bag are in plain sight of the front door - and she collects all evidence of her presence before walking right out of the apartment with a satisfied nod.

* * *

A short list of things you are supposed to do after making a mistake:

  1. Learn from them.
  2. Do not repeat.



Michelle does not do either of those things.

* * *

The issue is Peter.

Turns out, he’s… a menace.

Her first trip back to the apartment after The Mistake™ is two weeks later - a lifetime in comparison to her almost daily drop-ins - when she’s out of excuses to give Ned as to why they should chill in her dingy, damp apartment with the shuddering refrigerator. It’s blissfully empty of any inhabitants, and she relaxes in her perma-dibs-ed spot of the sofa with her feet kicked up on the coffee table she’d upcycled for the boys as an early Christmas present.

They’re half an hour into the movie when Peter clambers through the living room window. She does a double take; did he somehow use the fire escape? Ned doesn’t even appear to notice, like this is somehow  _ normal _ , and distractedly offers up a handwave as Peter heads straight to the bathroom without a word.

Only to emerge fifteen minutes later, skin still glistening from the steam as he tugs a clean shirt over his head, and falls into the space between the two friends.

“‘Sup?” Peter dunks a hand into Ned’s popcorn bowl at the same time as leaning over her lap to grab the remote and turn up the volume.

“Do you mind?” She pushes his thigh away from where it is approaching hers, twisting her body away and focusing very hard on reading the next word of her book.

“I do, actually. Why are you here for movie night when you’re not even watching?”

Ned scoffs from the other end of the sofa, anticipating the bollocking Peter is about to receive.

“Ask me anything,” she says with little interest, licking her finger to turn the page.

“Anything?”

“About the movie,” she amends. Peter’s eyes are warm against her cheeks and suddenly the words swim out of order.

“I wouldn’t test her, man,” Ned says after a tense few seconds pass. “You don’t know what you’re setting yourself up for.”

Michelle bites on her bottom lip to hide her smirk. “Probably for the best. I’ve had a long day and that’ll only make defeating you that much sweeter.”

There’s another bout of silence, filled only by the tinny explosions from the TV’s broken speakers. 

Eventually, Peter sighs softly and settles back into the sofa cushions, and Michelle pretends not to notice how he slants subtly towards her in his slouch. Instead, she reads about the protagonist’s love interest wax poetic about the night sky like he’s not talking about his crush the whole time. It’s corny and unrealistic, but who’s she trying to kid? She has a soft spot the size of the pacific ocean for overly-indulgent love stories.

It is this gooey and soft way the scene has made her feel that leads to what happens next.

They’re nearing the end of the movie, the climactic fight for the planet or the universe or the last doughnut - she really hasn’t been paying attention, apparently - about to hit its peak, when Peter jumps at a sudden noise and his hand falls to her ankle.

Michelle goes hot and cold all over at the contact. When it continues, she realises her lungs are burning because she’s stopped breathing.

She should shake him off. Slap his hand away and scold him out loud. 

Except.

His little finger is skimming the narrow slip of skin between the hem of her jeans and the beginning of her dinosaur print socks, stroking a lazy path back and forth. Somehow, this has triggered a startlingly clear memory of the last time his fingers had stroked a part of her.

And immediately, horrifyingly, Michelle realises she is  _ very  _ turned on.

It is very rude, quite frankly, how her body dares to betray her in such a way.

When the minutes slip by without a rebuttal, Peter becomes more daring, eyes intent on the screen as his hand slides over her heel and down her foot. Michelle thanks her lucky stars for the dimmed lights and Peter’s tangled limbs for hiding the atrocity that is taking place from her best friend’s view.

But then Peter’s thumb swirls in gentle, then firm circles into the arch of her foot, and  _ oh. _

Fuck him for this.

But also.

_ Damn _ , that feels good.

So good she isn’t capable of stopping him.

By the end of the movie, if Peter were to ask her anything about the culmination of it or the plot of her book, she’d be incapable of answering a single one.

Ned stretches tall and wide with a yawn, discarding his empty popcorn bowl to one side. “I am  _ beat _ .”

“Yeah.” Michelle swallows thickly as Peter finishes the impromptu massage with a lingering swipe of his thumb. “Me too.”

“You staying or heading home?”

“Home!” Michelle stumbles over herself to escape the thick layer of tension that has built between her and the boy she is supposed to hate enough for two. “I uh, I’m gonna head home. Need to shower and… Leave.”

Ned’s already up and at her side with a concerned lilt to his lips, gaze searching for the source of her distress. “You okay, MJ?”

“I’m fine.” She offers him a tight smile and holds her book a little tighter against her chest. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

Ned walks her to the door, choosing not to say anything about the sudden lack of space between her ears and her shoulders. She feels Peter watching her the whole time she slips into her jacket and laces up her boots, but he stays silent until Ned opens the door for her.

“Nice to see you again, MJ.”

She pauses midstep, clearing her throat like it’ll make her sound less like the idiot she’s so clearly made herself out to be. “Goodbye, Peter.”

It’s only when she steps out into the brisk city air that she realises how flushed she’s been since he stepped out of that damn bathroom, and it takes the long way home to resettle the dust he’d kicked up from within her chest.

* * *

The second time she returns Peter is already there, asleep on that same sofa without a shirt.

The third time he’s home from work early and making coffee. He holds out the pot in offer and she’s so distracted by the way a stray curl falls across his forehead as he high fives Ned that she’s suddenly drinking caffeine for the first time in three years.

The fourth time she’s dropping off birthday cards for Ned’s twin siblings and she bumps into Peter in the foyer.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stalking me.”

The smirk he gives her is far too smug. How much trouble would she get in for smacking it clean off his face?

“Or you just happen to inhabit the same living space as my best friend.”

“Can’t it be a little of both?”

The fifth time… Well. She’s running out of things to blame.

Because she knows that it only takes two drinks for her vagina to start taking charge of her brain, and she knows that the bar she chose for post-finals drinks is five blocks too far in the wrong direction to be convenient for her trip home, and she knows that Flash is going home with the guy from two booths over.

She also knows that Ned won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.

It’s the first time that she’s knocked on this door since move-in day eighteen months ago, and he has the decency to look surprised when he finds her on the other side.

“MJ,” Peter says with a sigh, leaning against the door frame as his eyes trace over the silhouette of her jacket and jean combo, “How can I help you this fine evening?”

“Oh, shut up,” she demands, before crossing the threshold to fall back into him.

* * *

Can you blame her? She’s been unable to think of anything but his hands for  _ weeks _ .

And it’s not like Peter doesn’t meet her ferocity with anything less than unbridled enthusiasm.

* * *

It does not in any way become a thing.

It does happen more than once. More than twice, even. There’s a chance it’s about to hit double digits.

And that’s just  _ sessions _ . If you want to go by orgasms, it’s gotta be… Well, it’s hard to keep score when she’s being ushered into another before the previous one is even over.

She’s lost all control of the situation, which should bother her Type A sensibilities far more than it does. How is she supposed to find the time to care when she spends an increasing ratio of her free time between his sheets?

There is one major kink in the whole non-plan, and that is Ned.

Namely that she hasn’t told him about any of this. At all. Not a peep.

At first she was too horrified by her own transgression to find the words that best summarised it; now she’s just downright ashamed of herself, because in the list of things she planned for her junior year of college, doing her best friend’s crappy roommate on the regular was never a part of the plan. 

Ned has known her for many years now, and she’s never been less than exemplary in everything she’s tried. He has never known her to fail, and apparently, Michelle struggles to admit to the things she considers a failure. Namely her embarrassing weakness to how physically attractive she finds Peter. 

(Also International Law, though it’s hardly her fault that the professor is a bitter old man taking the last of his intellectual impotence out on his students before he retires at the end of the academic year. He’s had it in for her since she corrected his slides during the first week of classes, and if Ned had bothered to work out his schedule early like she told him to, he’d be able to understand this academic blunder for what it truly is.)

So she doesn’t tell him.

And as the weeks begin to blur together, it becomes a little easier to lie about where she disappeared to the other night, or why she hadn’t answered the phone when he called for their traditional post-episode breakdown of their favourite show. It should hurt, to lie to Ned or to lie at all, considering her prevalent belief in the importance of the truth, but there’s something about her ongoing fling that insists on dragging her along with its current, while drowning out her voice to alert the passersby that she’s slowly drowning in its force.

* * *

“Hey, so there’s this guy in my Monday morning lecture that I think you’d like. You interested?”

Michelle sighs into the phone. “A blind date? Really? Again?”

“You say that like it’s been more than once.”

“A  _ terrible _ once.”

“To be fair to me, I did not notice that tattoo because of all the hair.” Ned hums tunelessly for a moment. “Is that a no?”

She looks around her room like it’ll offer her an excuse to get out of this, but then her eyes catch on the hoodie Peter left last night. 

“It’s fine. I’ll go.”

* * *

The date is… Subpar. 

He’s boring. Doesn’t understand basic table manners. Talked for fifty minutes about his dad’s dead cat. 

Dead for  _ six years _ .

* * *

Peter rolls onto his side late one night in her bed, head propped up with the heel of one hand while the other traces lazy spiralling patterns up the damp skin of her arm.

“You hungry?” he asks eventually. “I could go for burgers right now.”

Michelle shrugs. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“Excellent.” Peter’s kiss lingers, trailing down the bare expanse of her stomach. “Don’t you dare be wearing clothes when I get back.”

He’s out of bed with a drop of his lips to her clavicle, and when he returns twenty minutes later with food from her favourite burger place on the other side of town, he’s got a breathless grin and his hair is messy in a way that has nothing to do with the two rounds they’ve gone already.

The smile drops when he sees her wrapped in her favourite sweatshirt. “I definitely remember warning you against getting dressed.”

Just the way he stares at her from across the room is enough to warm her up, so she crosses her arms and tugs the fabric over her head until it’s discarded to the foot of the bed.

“Better?”

“Much.”

It turns out to be a good idea on his side, because halfway through her fries she drops sauce onto her chest that Peter dives in to clean up, and the burgers end up forgotten in favour of something far more pleasurable than greasy food after midnight.

* * *

Okay. So she lied. There is one other kink in the non-plan.

Peter is actually an okay guy?

It takes her a long time to realise it, too caught up in the thrill of sneaking around to notice such things. But he lays out an extra blanket on his bed when he finds out she hates having cold feet, and he always showers when they make plans, and there’ll be a glass of water on both sides of the bed because once she got thirsty in the middle of sex. 

And it’s not just kindness for the sake of his casual hook-up partner. She notices that he cleans up after himself a little more, and he has some kind of goofy handshake with Ned because they bonded over a love for sci-fi films three weeks ago, and he drives Flash home from the dentist after he has his wisdom teeth out - and he only send her the video of Flash’s rambling take on the benefits of keeping superheroes outside of the grips of politics, instead of posting it online somewhere like she probably would have done.

He’s  _ trying _ .

He’s still flaky and a bit of a mess and wrapped in four layers of mystery that she can’t solve, but he’s doing his best, she realises. Just because he’s unreasonably attractive doesn’t mean he is not, at the end of the day, remarkably human. Peter has made mistakes but he’s learning from them, not because of her tendency to fall into bed with him, but because he wants to be better.

And damn, if that doesn’t make her heart race.

* * *

The phone ringing is not what wakes her up. She’s already sat up, reading some technology magazine she’d found discarded under generic bedside table mess. She’s even a little interested in the main article, so the vibration of her phone makes her jump just enough to disturb the boy who is still sound asleep beside her.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey,” Ned replies, “Why are we whispering?”

Michelle is silent, distracted by smoothing a hand down Peter’s back so he resettles curled around her legs. 

“Oh!” Ned gasps. “Are you not alone?”

“Something like that.”

There’s a rustling, and then Ned’s voice is back to float through the receiver. “Okay, I’m ready. How was it?” 

“He was…” Incredible? Life-altering? What words can she use to summarise the experience that is having secret sex with the boy she likes least in the world? “...Okay.” 

“Oh my God! I didn’t know you were seeing anybody! Tell me everything.” 

She wants to, truly, but right in that moment she realises she can hear his voice twice; once through the phone and the other through the wall. 

Panic clutches at her chest and pricks at her skin. “Are you at home?!”

“Yeah. I got an early train back to get started on my term paper. Why? You wanna come over and gossip?” 

Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuckity  _ fuck.  _

How was she so unaware of what existed outside this goddamn bed that she hadn’t noticed her very best friend arriving home?

How did she notice the five missed texts she only now sees in her notifications?

And most importantly; how is she supposed to escape this nightmare without Ned finding out?

“Uh… I can’t, sorry.” Michelle swats at Peter until he starts to groan, at which point she slaps her hand over his mouth and widens her eyes in a silent plea. “I gotta get home and… Shower! I need to shower. Sorry,  _ Ned _ .”

Peter rolls his eyes at her dramatics, licking her palm until she rips it away in disgust.

“Maybe lunch a little later?” she continues, clambering out of bed to find her clothes. Peter has the nerve to prop himself up on his elbow, unabashedly checking her out.

Michelle presses a hand over the mic and angrily mouths, “I will  _ kill you _ !”

Unaffected, Peter at least pulls himself out of their broken cocoon and tugs on a pair of boxers before helping with her search.

“Lunch sounds great!” Ned continues, and she hears the sound of his laptop turning on through the wall, the tap of his keyboard through the phone. “Usual?”

Michelle catches the bra thrown her way, pressing the phone between her ear and her shoulder to tug it on. “Sounds great. See you then.”

The second she’s hung up the phone, Peter snorts in hysterics, muffling his humour with his own hand this time. “Sorry, but that was hilarious.”

“Can you just shut up and find my underwear?”

* * *

In the end, Peter effortlessly sneaks her out like this isn’t the worst thing to have ever happened in all of time, easing open the door in what looks like a practised move.

She’s three steps down out the door when he tugs her back, silencing her protest with a kiss filthier than the New York subway.

(It’s what she squashes herself into ten minutes later, lodged between a banker and a construction worker while smelling of sex and down a pair of lace underwear.)

* * *

“So my lab partner is single.”

“Do you have nothing better to do than poke your nose in my business?”

“Not really, no.” Ned nudges her calf with his toe. “You said you weren’t seeing anyone, right?”

“Those are words that came from my mouth, yes.”

“So Barry?”

She wrinkles her nose and twists away from his searching hand looking for her snacks. “Barry? Really?”

“Yes.  _ Barry. _ ”

* * *

Barry is nice. He just… He doesn’t make her laugh. 

She likes people who can make her laugh.

Ned makes her laugh. Flash sometimes makes her laugh, when he’s not making her groan in exasperation. 

Peter makes her laugh. Sometimes because he tickles her instead of taking off her shirt, sometimes because he tells her stupid stories or sends her a weird meme instead of paying attention in his classes. Other times it’s because she’s pretending to not notice him walk through the apartment, and he catches her looking when Ned isn’t paying attention and pulls this stupid, goofy face that makes her eyes water with the effort it takes to suppress her humour. 

Barry is dull, in comparison. 

* * *

She stumbles through the door of Ned’s apartment in a fit of giggles, the pair barely managing to hold each other up after a night of slightly underage drinking with Flash and their fellow classmates.

“Did you see that guy’s moustache?” Ned barely manages to get out through their laughter. “It was so… So curly!”

Michelle curls in on herself, a tear escaping her eyes. Ned stumbles while kicking off his shoes, saved only by the arms of their designated driver.

“Remind me to never again answer my phone when you two have been out drinking,” Peter says with a fond smile. He hangs up the keys to his beat up Volvo and, when he passes by on the way to the kitchen, his knuckles skim over her arm, setting a roaring fire alight inside of her.

“Thanks again, dude.” Ned aims a clap to his roommate’s shoulder, only to miss and nearly hit him straight in the face. “Oops.”

“You’re a mess, Leeds.” 

Michelle finishes tugging off her boots and collapses onto the sofa, tugging at the fabric of her skirt as it tries to hike up her legs. Her eyes drift closed sleepily only to reopen a second later to the beautiful face of the boy who gives her wonderful orgasms, a soft smile only increasing his beauty while he hands her a cool glass of water.

“Hey, Peter. C’mere.” Michelle ushers him closer until he’s leaning over her body, and then she whispers, “You’re really pretty.”

Peter chuckles under his breath, squeezing the hand that sloppily grabs at the drink. “And you’re really drunk.”

“Both can be true.”

“I suppose.” 

Peter looks away at the clatter that comes from the kitchen, sighing at the sight of Ned using a wooden spoon to try to reach the panini press. 

“You should stop him soon.” Michelle closes her eyes against the sudden spinning of the room. “He’s created three small fires with that thing.”

He’s across the room in a second flat, and she’s left to think about where she’d rather be sleeping; not here, not in Ned’s bed, but with the person she’s spent the whole ride back trying not to touch. He’s just so… So…  _ Pretty _ . Not just his hair but what lives beneath it; his mind and his heart and the way they couldn’t afford a cab so Ned had called him on the off chance, and Peter had dropped whatever it is he does at night when he’s not, well,  _ doing her _ , and picked them up without a single complaint.

Ooh. Would he be up for doing her now?

She tries to sit up and her vision swims, so she slumps against the couch cushions. Best to stay here, where she can watch her best friend challenge her booty call to an arm wrestle.

* * *

Ned wins, which is weird.

He can’t even beat her on a sober day.

But Peter  _ The Arms  _ Parker?

There’s no way.

* * *

“MJ?”

She pouts as she trails a finger down the cracked paint of his door. “I can’t sleep.”

“You were out cold after I put Ned to bed.” Peter picks up his phone and squints against the brightness of the screen. “That was three hours ago.”

Michelle sighs dramatically, stumbling across the room. “Would you just move over already? I wanna spoon.”

* * *

He comes over the next day and gets lost between her legs until he’s fucked the hangover away, and then he makes her coffee so they can study together.

Ned would say she’s in too deep.

But Ned isn’t here.

* * *

“We could go out, maybe. If you want to.”

They’re sprawled out on her sofa, enjoying the lack of roommates who like to hog the remote, Peter’s head in her lap as she plays with his hair. It’s been an hour since he arrived and they’ve yet to even kiss outside of the peck he’d given her in greeting before they’d settled into the living space with a drink in hand. Michelle’s stomach had growled and Peter had laughed, pulling out his phone to order something in.

Then the words had slipped from her mouth before she could even think the thought.

Peter twists to face her, his eyes open and full of hope. “Outside? Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Something a lot like nerves lodges in her throat, strangling her voice and making her tug at his hair as she clenches around a tangle. “Do you want to?”

Peter swallows, and then he lights up. “I want a lot of things, but this, I think, is a good start.”

* * *

They head out to Brooklyn and sit down at a proper table table in a proper restaurant, and Peter blushes over his pasta as he tells her about his aunt’s charity work. The candlelight flickers prettily in his eyes, and when he reaches across their plates to brush a curl back behind her ear, she realises something awful:

This is a date.

They’re on a  _ date  _ right now.

Peter and Michelle are  _ dating _ .

And there’s nothing awful about it at all.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hey, you.” Ned’s voice is warm, enough to subset the chill as she rushes from one lecture to the next. “What are doing right now? I feel like we haven’t hung out in ages.”

Michelle smiles at the petulant whine in his voice. “We spent all of yesterday together, loser.”

“Yeah, well…” Ned sighs dramatically. “We drank so much of that wine that I barely remember it, so it doesn’t count.”

“Whatever.” Michelle nods to the girl who holds the door open for her so she can get inside, shaking off the briskness of a day that promises snow imminently. “I’ve got class now and then a study group session after that, but I can do tomorrow after my shift?”

“Sounds great. See you then.”

* * *

She bails on Ned.

Mostly because of the disaster her project partner has created just days before the deadline, but also…

She  _ likes  _ Peter.

And she wants to talk about it. Extensively.

To her best friend.

Except he can’t  _ know _ . Because Ned still thinks she hates him.

And she doesn’t.

She  _ likes _ him.

She likes his smile and his eyes and how he says her name when he’s half asleep. She likes how much he loves his aunt and how, when she calls, he’ll drop everything - including sex with Michelle - to answer. She likes his terrible taste in fashion and his only slighter better taste in food and how he makes ridiculous jokes he knows aren’t funny because he wants to make her laugh. 

She likes how he takes his time in bed but has terrible time-keeping skills, but he always apologises for being late with something edible and an extra orgasm. She likes his butt and how soppy he gets when he sees a dog and that one time, when she wasn’t feeling well, he let her snot all over his new shirt while they watched true crime documentaries in her room until she fell asleep.

She likes that he stayed.

He stayed for her, because he knew she wouldn’t say it, but having him there made her feel better.

But how is she supposed to tell Ned all of that?

How is she supposed to admit to keeping an increasingly important part of her life a secret?

All because she made one mistake that grew into something great.

She can’t. So she doesn’t.

Peter stays her secret. 

And if it begins to fester beneath her skin, then she’ll just ignore the problem until it goes away.

* * *

Ways in which she has repeatedly betrayed the trust of her best friend:

  1. Sleeping with his roommate and not telling him. 
  2. Sleeping with him again. And again. And again and… You get the picture. 
  3. Realising she has feelings for said roommate, and beginning to date him without ever telling Ned. 
  4. Lying to his face, over and over, about what she’s doing with her time. Like telling the truth is nothing. Like there’s nothing wrong with hiding an important part of her life from her most favourite person in all the world.
  5. Having no other reason to lie than the shame she once felt over number 1.
  6. Olivia.



* * *

“So did you know Olivia from the bar thinks you’re hot?”

Michelle lip quirks up in amusement. “I did.”

Ned throws popcorn at her face when she preens around the reminder. “She asked me for your number last night.”

Her blood runs cold, suddenly remembering that she’d notice Olivia’s interest but only because Peter was at the other end of the bar, staring at the dip of her neckline like he could remove her shirt with his eyes. 

“Oh. Well… Did you give it to her?”

“Please, like I would hand out your personal information without your permission.”

She manages half a smile. “Good boy.”

Ned snorts out a laugh and pauses the movie. “You interested?”

She isn’t. 

“Uh… Sure.”

But she can’t tell Ned that, can she?

Not without destroying the whole house of cards she’s building. 

* * *

“Wanna hang out later?” Peter asks when he finds her in line at the coffee cart, supposedly in a hurry between his classes. 

“I, uh, I can’t.” She purses her lips and takes great interest in stirring her tea. “I kind of have a date?”

She starts to walk, but he’s not following her. “You what?”

Michelle returns to his side, glancing around before slipping her hand into his. “Sorry. I… I didn’t know how to bring it up. It’s just dinner, and it’s all Ned’s fault! He has this thing for setting me up with people and I don’t know how to say no when we’re not -“

“Admitting to this?” Peter’s jaw tenses and maybe he’s about to get mad, finally annoyed with their situation, but he relaxes and strokes his thumb across her cheek with a reverence she doesn’t deserve. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. I understand.” Peter squeezes her hand and then lets go so they can continue walking. “So who’s lucky enough to have dinner with Michelle Jones?”

“Olivia.”

“Olivia from the bar?!  _ Damn _ , MJ. I don’t have a chance.”

She shoves him in the arm with a laugh. “Shut up, Parker.”

* * *

She makes it three minutes at the table before she blurts out, “I’m seeing someone. Kinda. I’m sorry.”

Olivia just smiles, her pearly white teeth shining in the candlelight. “It’s Peter, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little.” Olivia relaxes back into her chair, slipping out of date mode and into her usual friendly demeanour. “You look like you wanna talk about it.”

Michelle laughs, cheeks flushed. “Is it that obvious?”

* * *

The boys throw a huge party at the apartment in honour of Flash’s birthday.

And it’s not fair that her own rules mean she has to watch three people try to chat Peter up, and that she has to watch the way his arms fill out his shirt as he hands out drinks, knowing how they feel wrapped around her, and that she has to watch him watch her as she dances a bad rendition of the cha-cha with the guest of honour.

He disappears at some point between her second and third drink, and when he returns she’s halfway through the fifth and in need of the bathroom - the place he so promptly pulls her into that it sets her off-balance.

When he pushes her against the closed door to kiss her, she loses all sense of direction.

All she knows is his hands beneath her shirt and his lips trailing down her throat and the insistent press of his hips.

“Someone’s eager,” she teases when he pops the top button of her jeans. “I haven’t seen you in a while, or felt you eye-fucking me from across the room. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. You must have just missed me.”

He grunts as her fingers tangle in her hair, holding him more securely against her. He smells strange, something layered into his usual smell of mint body wash and detergent that she doesn’t recognise.

“I did miss you,” she admits against his insistent lips. “This is… This is definitely helping.”

But then he pulls back to concentrate on slipping his fingers into her underwear, and the streetlight streams through the window just right, and she suddenly spots the yellowing bruise that sits beneath his left eye.

“Fuck! Peter!” He begins to smirk at her before she traces a feather light finger over his cheekbone in concern. “What happened to you?!”

“Nothing, MJ. I’m fine.” He goes to kiss her but two hands stop him, the drunken edge to her brain clearing into perfect clarity as she angles his head to get a better view.

“This doesn’t look like nothing. How did I not see this before?”

“Because I’m fine.” He captures her hand and kisses the tips of her fingers. “I promise, I’m fine.”

But even as she pretends to let it go and kisses him until her breathing is reduced to gasps, she can’t stop thinking about it.

Because all the times she’s found the mystery of him so intriguing, so endearing, it suddenly twists and sours into something more sinister and confusing than she’s capable of processing right now.

Where  _ has  _ he been for the last hour?

Where does he go all those times he doesn’t answer his phone?

Why is he still holding them all at arms length, never quite letting them in?

What is Peter Parker’s secret?

* * *

Ned is giving her this strange look across the study room, one she probably should have noticed a few minutes ago if not for her runaway thoughts.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks.

And honestly? She has no idea.

* * *

“Is anyone else here?” 

“No, it’s just us.” 

“Oh thank fuck.” Michelle falls into the space beside him, curling into him with her head on his chest. She snatches the beer bottle grasped between his fingers, taking a swig and sighing contently. “How was your day?”

“Better, now that you’re here.”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “Alright, weirdo. You can stop the cutesy act; we’re already dating.”

“Mm… Dating.” Peter nuzzles his nose into her neck, his smile pressed into her skin. “I like the sound of that.”

“We’ve been sleeping together for three months.”

“But we’ve only been dating for a few weeks.” Peter’s kissing a lazy trail down her neck that makes her soul soar at the tenderness. “An amazing few weeks, I might add…”

“Sure. They’ve been okay.” Peter nips at her skin and she laughs. “If you leave a mark, Peter Parker, I swear…”

His teeth graze more purposefully over her collarbone. “Please. You love it.”

“No, I don’t! You always put them in the… In the most inconvenient places…”

“Like here?” Peter kisses just under her jaw. “Or maybe here?” His fingers tug the neckline of her shirt to kiss just below the base of her throat. “Maybe down here…”

She’s arching into his touch, encouraging him down to more significant places, when Peter suddenly tenses, lifting his head from her chest to glance beyond her shoulder.

She follows his gaze, seeing nothing but an empty apartment. “You okay there, Peter?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter’s eyes barely come back to her before returning to something she can’t seem to see. “It’s nothing.”

Her hands clasp his jaw and pull him back to her, kissing him in a way she hopes conveys the way he makes her feel. It’s soft and firm and powerful, too big for her skin yet sitting comfortably in her chest. She is herself, but like a more enhanced version; like his presence upgrades her like one of his college projects, his hands and the way he sees her fixing all the little bugs until she’s working optimally. 

Michelle settles more comfortably into his lap as his tongue traces her bottom lip, greedy hands exploring the swell of his biceps when he flexes to tug her ever closer. She’d probably be content to kiss this boy forever, enjoying the way their mouths slot together like matching puzzle pieces, but there is also this craving for more of him that she can’t quite quench no matter how intertwined they become. Like the jigsaw needs solving still; like there’s an infinite number of pieces to find and fit into the wondrous picture they’re creating together. 

Oh, how she desires to know what they become. 

Her hips roll and Peter moans and the rest of the world falls away. 

Just for a moment. 

Then Peter freezes beneath her once more. 

“Someone’s coming,” he whispers against her lips. 

“I sure hope so.”

He grips her thighs and then they’re upright, Peter holding her with one arm like she weighs nothing at all.

“MJ,” he chides gently when she continues to be distracted by kissing his face, “We’re going to get caught if you don’t -“

She sucks at the delicate juncture between his neck and shoulder and his knees tremble, grip slipping until his fingertips graze where she wants him most. 

_ “Oh.”  _ Peter stumbles as her delighted exhale brushes across his lips. “Don’t drop me!”

“I won’t,” he promises, something hidden in the layers of his voice, but before she can consider it he’s diving across the room and she muffles her laughter into his shoulder, unable to contain herself even as a key slides into the lock. 

“Shit!” she whispers, craning her neck to see the door as Peter presses her into a wall to free a hand that fumbles with his bedroom door. “Who is it?”

“Ned.”

“Ned?!” She squeaks in a full panic now, but she jostles against him just so and Peter is whimpering at the friction, forgetting the task at hand in favour of kissing her again. 

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Michelle withdraws from his lips and mouths a desperate,  _ Hurry! _

This is not the way she wants Ned finding out their secret. 

Not when Peter’s grinding helplessly against her one last time before he manages to open his own door. 

“Peter? Is that you?” 

Footsteps approach just as they fall into his room, the door slamming shut behind them. 

Her irrational response to the adrenaline has her on the verge of hysterics, and Peter covers her trembling lips with his palm as he catches his breath enough to awkwardly yell, “Just a - Just a minute!”

“Sorry! Didn’t realise you had company.” Ned coughs awkwardly from the other side of the single piece of wood that separates him unknowingly from his best friend. “I’ll just… Go.”

They both hold their breath until Ned disappears into the kitchen, and only then can they both sigh with momentary relief. 

Now. Where were they?

* * *

“I think Peter’s seeing someone.”

Michelle chokes on her vanilla soy latte in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“What?!”

Ned laughs at her reaction, carefree and easygoing as always. Her shoulders lower from her ears. There won’t be an accusation to follow. 

“What makes you say that?” she asks as casually as possible, eyes intent on the people that hurry past them on their lunch breaks. The pair have a rare afternoon off together and have just left a movie, the dark room and gentle pace of the plot making her drowsy enough to require caffeine. 

It’s not as pleasant in her nose. She’ll be smelling vanilla for days. 

“He’s always been a little… He disappears a lot at weird times, and he’s always hiding his messages and taking secret calls, and the other day I saw him in his room with a  _ girl _ . Plus a few months ago I found some underwear in his room and he blushed  _ so hard _ when I asked about it. Has he mentioned anything to you? I know you’re not exactly close with him, but maybe in passing?”

Well. Now she knows what happened to her underwear. 

She should answer, she knows; a general denial, perhaps, or maybe even just admit to the whole thing to relieve the crushing guilt that sits permanently on her chest. 

Except she’s caught on something Ned has said. 

About secret phone calls. 

Because Michelle  _ doesn’t  _ call him. 

In the increasingly rare times she isn’t with him, she’s either in class or with Ned - both of which remove calls as possibilities. 

So who is he on the phone to?

And why does she know nothing about this?

They’ve been dating for a few months now - sleeping together for longer - and not once has she seen him take a call she can’t be around for. 

She thought it was just intimacy issues, or maybe a side effect to the constant sneaking around. 

But now...

Does Peter have another secret that isn’t her?

Michelle is trapped in a free fall, being consumed by her feelings for him in a way she’s never experienced before, and she’s been enjoying the sensation - less like falling, perhaps, and more like flying - but this revelation is like slamming into an invisible ledge, the violent collision ricocheting through her entire being. 

“No,” she finally manages to whisper, the cold wind capturing the wetness that clings to her eyelashes, “He hasn’t said anything.”

* * *

The more she tries not to think about it, the more it weighs heavy on her mind. 

She trusts him, of course he does; but they’ve never had the ‘exclusive’ talk, never defined what they are beyond people who are dating. 

It’s never been a problem until now. 

But -

She sees the way Peter looks at her. If she’s in deep then he’s already at the bottom, waiting to catch her so he can tell her what she already knows. 

He’s been so patient with her, never once complaining about the shroud of secrecy she keeps them wrapped in, too afraid to pop their bubble and let the outside world see what blooms within. 

He never pressures her to say the words that aren’t ready to slip from her tongue, his own confession woven seamlessly into the soft way he looks at her while she studies and he plays with her fingers, or the way he says her name when they get lost in each other, or how he brings her the freshest pastries from the bakery down the block every Sunday morning, because he knows she got in from work too late the night before to bother eating dinner. 

She trusts him. She really does. 

But she trusts Ned, too.

And he has no reason to lie about Peter’s behaviour.

So who does she trust more? Whose side does she choose?

How does she untangle herself from the web of lies she’s created enough to find the truth?

* * *

“You’re quiet, tonight.” Peter runs his finger down her parting and then loops it around one of her curls, holding her tighter to his chest. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, “Everything’s fine.”

* * *

Ned can no longer meet her eye. 

“What’s up your butt?” she asks when they manage to avoid saying a single word to each other the entire subway ride to their college. 

Ned huffs out a breath and shrugs the shoulder not weighed down by three textbooks. “Nothing. What’s up  _ your _ butt?”

“Nothing!”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Her eyes narrow at the possible implications of his words. 

“What do you mean?”

Ned steps in front to grab the heavy door before taking a step back to let her in first. “I’m happy there’s nothing up your butt.”

“Oh.” She grimaces, the guilt coiling a little tighter. “Well, same for you.”

“Thanks.” Ned stalks away in the direction of his lecture hall, leaving her to stare after him in confusion. 

Even when he texts her ten minutes later, a simple yellow heart emoji, she can’t shake the feeling of trouble brewing on the horizon. 

* * *

It gets even weirder when she opens the boys’ apartment door and sees Peter and Ned spring apart on the couch, two pairs of hands scrambling to stuff something red beneath the cushions. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” she says as she drops her bag and unzips her boots. “It’s about time Ned got some action.”

“Please. He wishes.” Ned jumps up and ushers her into the kitchen with very little subtlety. “Plus things are going  _ very  _ well with Betty, thank you very much.”

“Have you actually talked to her yet?”

Ned fumbles with the handle of the refrigerator and bares his teeth at her smirk. “I dislike you.”

“You love me.” Michelle glances back into the living room to see Peter rushing out with something stuffed up his shirt. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing! Nothing is up. In fact, it’s down. Yeah, uh, down - Peter is down!” Ned clears the break from his voice. “He’s sad. Really sad. He um, he got hit last night by a… Car.”

“He what?!” Michelle’s running from the room before she can stop herself, crashing through his bedroom door with as much force as Ned’s panicked reveal had collided straight with her chest. “You got hit by a  _ car _ ?”

“What?” Peter’s hands fall instantly to her hips as she grabs his face, tilting it this way and that to look for visible injuries. “What are you talking about?”

“How could you not mention getting hit by a damn car?” Failing to see any head injuries, she moves to patting down his chest and arms, waving away when he tries to stop her. “I am  _ so  _ mad at you, Peter Parker -“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Yeah you do.” Ned clears his throat as he walks into the room, and Michelle just about manages to remember herself enough to take a half step back. “The car? From last night?”

Peter’s looking over her shoulder with a furrowed brow, but then the confusion clears and he says, “Oh! Yeah. The car. Uh… it’s not a big deal. Barely a scratch. Basically parked. I’m fine, MJ.”

“Are you sure?” With the shock wearing off, tears of fear begin to prickle at her eyes, something hot and new and terrible firing through every nerve in her body. “Don’t you lie to me, Parker.”

“I’m a-okay, I promise.”

But he can’t quite meet her eye, and something in chest fractures at the possibilities of why. 

* * *

Things she should work on taking better notice of when in a highly emotional moment:

  1. Ned’s complete inability to lie. 
  2. As above, but Peter’s. 



Because there’s something wrong with the whole exchange as she looks back on it. 

Ned’s panic and fumbling speech.

Peter seemingly unaware of his own accident, and his lack of injuries that could in any way make him ‘very sad’.

The way Ned had been looking at her in Peter’s room, in a way she still can’t understand. 

What is going on with her boys? And why is she being left on the outside looking in?

* * *

“So I think I’ve cracked it. Found you the perfect date.”

“Ned, please. I’m not interested in -“

“Trust me. You’re going to want to go on this one.”

* * *

Michelle puts on a dress and a lipgloss, and takes the subway to the restaurant as instructed at exactly seven o’clock. 

She’s led to an empty table, given bread and a jug of water, and left to stew in her anxiety. 

Why is she even here?

She’s with Peter. She  _ likes _ being with Peter. Maybe even more than likes being with him. 

She has no reason to be turning up to lousy blind dates, even to appease her probably-no-longer-ignorant best friend. 

But still she sits. And she waits. And she waits. 

Half an hour later she’s lost in an article on her phone when someone approaches her table, out of breath and chuckling anyway. 

“MJ! I’m so sorry I’m late.” 

Peter falls into the chair opposite her, tugging at the sleeves of his nice shirt that she bought for him last month.

“Peter?” Her jaw goes slack, and she nearly drops her phone into her wineglass. “What are you doing here?”

He leans across the table to take her hand, that warm smile reserved just for her lighting up his boyish face. “It would appear that Ned thinks we’d make a good couple.”

“He set us up?!” Michelle is in a debilitating state of shock for about three seconds, before she realises she’s not surprised at all. “That… damnit I’m going to kill him.”

“After dinner? I’m starving.” Peter lifts her hand to press his lips against her knuckles. “Dinner in Queens with my girlfriend. A dream come true.”

“Girlfriend?” She wrinkles her nose in fake distaste. “You really want that with me?”

“Well, now Ned has given us the seal of approval, we probably don’t have to keep us a secret anymore right?”

He’s laughing but it’s like he’s thrown a bucket of ice water over her head. 

Fuck. What is she going to do?

Peter squeezes her hand and shifts his chair around the table, cupping her cheek and kissing her softly before her mind can begin to spiral.

“We have to tell him,” Peter says quietly. “You know that, right?”

“No,” she replies with a tight smile, “This is my mess. It should be me who tells him.”

* * *

Ned’s huddled under her favourite blanket when they get back to the apartment, watching a black and white movie with one of her herbal teas warming his hands. He turns as they enter, a wide and cheeky smile creasing around his eyes.

“Hey, guys! How did it go?” Ned’s grin somehow grows bigger. “Did you like my surprise?”

“I hate surprises,” she deadpans, but the malice she tries to inject into her tone is lost beneath the nerves that engulf her with the prospect of what’s to come. He’s smiling now, but will he be after she confesses to months of secrets and lies?

“We had a nice time,” Peter tells him, and then quieter, just for her, he squeezes her shoulder and whispers, “I’ll wait in my room until you’re ready.”

Michelle sets the leftovers on the kitchen counter as Peter leaves the living space, closing her eyes a moment to steel herself. It won’t be that bad, right? Ned will forgive her for this. Their friendship is too important for him to walk away from over this. Ned won’t leave her. Ned  _ can’t _ leave her.

Shit. What if Ned leaves her?

“You okay, MJ?” Ned’s right behind her, concern leaking through every pore when she turns to the sound of his voice. “Did I overstep? I didn’t mean to make it weird between you two, I just -”

“No, no, Ned you’re fine.” She barely manages an uptick of her lip, and Ned takes her hand to lead her back to the sofa. “I, um, I have… Can we talk?”

Ned’s expression darkens. “Did Peter do something you weren’t comfortable with? I swear I’ll kill him -”

“No! Ned, stop.” She drags him back down so they’re sitting sideways, facing each other with their hands left tangled in the space between them. “Peter was great. You do not need to be running off to protect my honour right now or... whatever this is. I just have something to tell you and I’m a little nervous so can you please just listen? I’m probably going to get really rambly and make zero sense but I...”

Ned looks completely confused, mouth opening and closing without achieving much else until she finishes talking and he gasps loud enough to alert the neighbours. “Oh my God! You have a secret!”

“Kinda? It’s not just my secret to tell, but -”

“Wait, wait.” Ned cuts her off with a wave of his hand, edging a little closer so he can lean forward and say through clenched teeth, “Do you  _ know _ ?”

“Know? Of course I - Wait, know what, exactly?”

“Well, what do  _ you _ know?”

“Is there more than one thing to know?” Michelle’s gaze narrows. “Do you know a secret, too? About Peter?”

“Your secret is about Peter?”

“Maybe. How do I know if we’re talking about the same thing?”

“How do  _ I  _ know if we’re talking about the same thing?”

“Stop repeating what I say with emphasis!”

Ned groans, dropping his face into his hands. “We’re talking in circles.”

Michelle shakes her head and tries to clear her mind, considering the paths they can take to get through this instead of going around it. After a minute, she sighs and says, “Okay, there’s only one way to settle this. We both say it after three.”

“Finally! A plan.” Ned nods and straightens his posture, stretching out his neck and releasing a deep breath. “On three or after three?”

“After three.”

“Okay. Ready? One, two, three -”

And Ned yells, “He’s Spiderman!” as Michelle squeaks out, “Peter’s my boyfriend!” and Peter crashes into the room and screams a second too late,  _ “No! Stop!” _

“Wait,” the pair on the sofa say, “ _ What?! _ ”

“You’re Spiderman?” Michelle shouts.

“You’re the guy she’s been hiding from me?” Ned adds.

Peter is so pale she can almost see the blood pumping through his veins. “I-”

“You knew I was lying to you?”

“You’re dating Spiderman?”

“Guys, please -”

“Not knowingly!”

“I didn’t realise you were lying about  _ him! _ ”

“Apparently I’m not the only one!”

“I’ve only known for a week; how long have you been lying?”

Michelle clears her throat and looks away. “That’s not relevant right now.”

“That long?!”

“It’s not been that long, Ned; barely a few months -”

Both turn to Peter to shout, “Shut up!”

Except they’re suddenly out of steam, their shock and anger evaporating with the moment of synchronicity - a needed reminder of what matters most in this situation - and when they look back to each other it’s all they need to burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“You… You live with Spiderman!” she gasps out. “Mr I-Run-The-Second-Most-Popular-Spiderman-Fan-Account is… You’re  _ living _ with him!”

“Says the girl who put Spiderman as her least favourite superhero and is now dating him!” Ned wipes at the tears streaming down his face. “What are the chances?!”

“He… I thought the Spidey boxers were just a dumb present but he… He wears his face on his own butt!”

They fall back down onto the sofa, her stomach beginning to ache as their amusement crashes through every part of her body. It’s an irrational response that ignores the serious conversations she’s sure are to come, but for now they are incredulous, once more on the same wavelength.

It is how she knows they’ll be okay. They’ll walk out of this ridiculous period of their lives with their friendship firmly intact.

“I’m going to regret moving into this apartment, aren’t I?”

She’d completely forgotten about Peter’s presence for a second there, and while noticing him is enough to sober her some, it is the fondness that shines in his eyes for the pair that pulls her free from the humour and back onto her feet - only enough to get a good enough purchase so that when she pulls he’ll stumble. It has the desired effect, Peter landing in the space between them. He seems disoriented, a look on his face that is very unfair in its insistence on being adorable, especially when he refuses to let her hand go.

“So.” Ned clears his throat as he returns to a semi-sensible state of mind. “This is a thing, huh?”

Peter looks at her in that way that turns her organs to mush. “The best kind of thing.”

“You are insufferable,” she says with an arched brow, “And no longer allowed to speak.”

He mimes a zipper closing across his smirking mouth.

She’s definitely going to kill him after this conversation.

Ned leans towards her, his brown eyes soft and a little pained. She hates that she put that ache there. What kind of friend is she to betray a person she loves so dearly?

“I guess I don’t understand, is all. We’ve always been able to talk about anything and everything. Why did you choose to keep this from me? Did you think I wouldn’t approve? That I’d somehow be angry at you?” 

“I didn’t mean to, at least not in the beginning. The first time it happened, it was a stupid mistake and I regretted it so much, but then… I didn’t. And it happened again. And again. I lost any semblance of control over the whole thing and I guess, in a way, by not telling you, I could kid myself into thinking I had some. You didn’t have to know that I was falling for a guy I claimed to hate - close your mouth, Parker, you can yell at me later - all because you bailed on movie night and I apparently had nothing better to do than, well, Peter.”

“That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever said,” is the first thing Ned seems to be capable of saying.

“We both know that isn’t true.” They chuckle weakly at a memory best left alone, until Michelle says, “I am truly sorry, Ned.”

“I get it. I’m still a little mad, but I do forgive you.” His gaze flickers to the muted boy at her side. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Peter glances her way, waiting for her nod of permission to speak. 

“Honestly, Ned, have you ever tried to say no to her?” He squeezes her hand to get rid of any sting that might come from his words, the uptick of his lips immediately being mirrored on her own face. “I think you bailing on movie night is the second best thing that’s ever happened to me, because it led to her, and I wouldn’t change a second of it.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” she replies, “If you think being cute is going to get you off the hook for the whole secret identity thing, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Understood.” He locks her gaze with his own, fingertips tracing the curve of her jaw. “I still meant it, though.”

“So did I. We’re going to discuss this later.  _ At length. _ ”

“Aw, look how adorable you two are!” Ned’s emotional voice mixed with his clasped hands and teary eyes is enough to have Michelle reconsidering the whole half-in-love thing. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

It’s a strange and beautiful moment to sit here with Ned and Peter without any secrets; to have her best friend’s approval of something that means so much to her; to know that from here on out, her future -  _ their  _ future - is suddenly full of a thousand possibilities, and in all of them she’ll have her two favourite people to experience it with.

How did Michelle Jones get so damn lucky?

* * *

“So what do we do now?”

“Right now, I want to get drunk with my boys and watch Star Wars.”

“Star Wars? Really?” Ned’s entire body lights up like the sun, eyes wide with childlike wonder. “You’re lifting the lifetime ban?”

“You deserve it, buddy.” She wraps him in a one armed hug, feeling content at the warmth with which he returns it. “Plus I’m exhausted after all this and it’ll put me right to sleep.”

Ned pushes her away. “Ugh, you are the  _ worst _ .”

“It’s okay, dude. If she’s asleep we can watch the extended cut  _ and _ the bonus features!”

Peter and Ned exchange their dorky handshake that makes a little piece of her die every time she has to witness it, but she accepts the beer Peter fetches for them and makes herself at home on the sofa between them, her legs thrown over Ned’s lap and her cheek pillowed on Peter’s thigh.

It feels right.

It feels like a new beginning.

“When you two eventually ditch me and run away together, can you at least do it quietly so I can get some damn sleep?”

It feels like home.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ned asks as he picks up the remote. “Who’s going to tell Flash when he gets home?”

* * *

(It’s Ned.)

(Flash doesn’t make it three feet into the apartment before he declares it, loud and proud.)

(“Dude, did you not know?” is Flash’s reaction. “I’ve seen MJ sneaking into his room for months now. One time she even said hi to me - do you really not remember? We talked about your term paper! Do you guys just not pay any attention to me?”)

**Author's Note:**

> The end was me being hilarious to me and me alone because I forgot to include Flash more. Oops.
> 
> @mjonesing on Tumblr as always!


End file.
